The lilting sound of the melody drifted up to my bedroom comforting me. I found myself swaying to it; my body awakening to the dance responded to the rhythm. The tunes shifted from upbeat pop to classical compilations to the tangible pain of a ballad. This often happens when I spend time with my daughter, the self-taught pianist. In between her demands for food, complaints of boredom, or permission to go out, she regales me with continuous hours of music. It’s lovely how it fills the house; the music ringing through the paper-thin walls. Too soon the time comes when she returns to her father. And then the house will be quiet; the piano silent until she returns.